


The Shadow: Rights and Wrongs

by Kummer_Wolfe



Category: DCU, The Shadow (Pulp), The Shadow - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - DC Animated Universe, Alternate Universe - The Shadow, Crossover, Gen, The Shadow Post Cannon, mentions of drug dealing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:51:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kummer_Wolfe/pseuds/Kummer_Wolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To help combat a new illegal drug hitting the streets that mutates its victims, The Shadow recruits an unlikely ally to gain insight into the possible source of the vile chemical!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shadow: Rights and Wrongs

_The Shadow. A Dark Avenger who fights crime using the skills of misdirection, deduction, and the hypnotic power to cloud mens’ minds. By daylight, this vigilante is Andru Vandevik: a well to-do Mayan-American who runs a courier service in Metropolis. Vandevik was trained in the mysterious psychic arts by none other than Kent Allard, the original Shadow. Relentless and determined, Vandevik haunts the criminal underworld righting wrongs, protecting the innocent, and punishing the guilty. Vandevik is joined in this by his friend, Lila Decker, a young woman cursed with the ghost-like ability to phase through solid objects._

 

***

Miles Benton never bought into ghost stories about trees and shadows following you at night. That is, until they did.

Or at least, it looked like they had out of the corner of his eye. He turned to stare at the modest-sized maple for three long minutes before giving up on it. The tree stood like all the others that lined dark greenery of New York’s Washington Square Park. Shaking his head, Miles resumed walking back to the fraternity. He glanced at his watch, and sighed.

Mentally he kicked himself. He was an idiot. Miles knew he should have been in bed an hour ago.

He looked around then changed direction, darting between the university’s Science Building and Morgan Hall, which was under renovation. Despite the gloom, construction equipment, and poor lighting, it was still the shortest route to his fraternity house. Miles had enough to worry about with his impending mid-terms without being caught out after the frat’s evening curfew. That would be the last thing he needed to deal with.

Mid-way down the lane, there was an odd echo in the air like a second set of footsteps on the concrete behind him. He stopped dead still, then looked over his shoulder. Long dark lines, drawn out by moonlight behind the trees shifted over the ground. He shuddered. Just his imagination, then.

Putting his back to the trees and their nightmare fuel, he came face to face with a tall figure in a black coat, cloak, and fedora. The only splash of color was the blood red scarf and intense, bright, and burning amber eyes.

“Miles Benton!” The dark figure’s voice reverberated as if from beyond the grave, echoing from all directions at once.

Miles bit back a scream. An invisible fist gripped his heart like a vice.

“The Shadow!” he croaked.

Clutching his backpack, Miles’ free hand darted into his pocket to latch onto a small protective amulet he had purchased. It was a small thing. But the horror of a few night’s before haunted him. Memories of undead kabuki actors and sand demons dripping from the fraternity walls flashed in his mind. Miles was not sure if the amulet helped, but it made him feel better holding it.

“Go back to Metropolis!” Miles snapped. He had stood his ground against this evil spirit before when it and two other fiends invaded his fraternity. If he could do it then, he would do it now. “You have no domain here!” He felt himself shaking. Miles was determined to not back down now. “Leave!”

The Shadow laughed. “Miles Benton, I’ve told you before that I’m not an evil spirit. I will leave, but not before I speak with you,” growled the Dark Avenger, eyes flashing with anger.

Miles swallowed. He was prepared to banish evil spirits; he was not at all prepared to talk to one. Fear kept him rooted in place. After two seconds of silence, he recovered his voice.

“No!” he snapped. “No. You’re trying to trick me! I know how all this works! I’ve been reading since last time! This is just another trick to snare me!” Miles stepped back, then tried to rush past, but the Shadow stepped in the way.

“This is no trick,” the Dark Avenger explained. “I must talk to you. Once I have said what I need to, I will leave you to go on your way.” The urgency in the figure’s voice electrified the night air.

Miles fought to keep his breathing under control. If the Shadow was lying and he was an evil spirit, creatures like that could be compelled to deliver messages. On the other hand, if the Shadow was not an evil spirit but was a vigilante like the tabloids claimed, then the Shadow did not mean him any harm. Either way, this message might be important. But no matter how Miles tried to puzzle it out, he could not figure out why the Shadow wanted to talk to him.

Miles let out a nervous sigh that could fuel a bellows. It steadied his nerves, but only a little.

“All right.” Miles felt like a fool for saying it, but it seemed the only route to getting out of this situation.

The Shadow inclined his head. “I want to talk to you about the other night at your fraternity. About the basement lab, and the performance enhancement drug your friends were creating under the direction of that otherworldly creature. I trust you remember the visit that visit from myself and my companions?”

Miles’ head jerked in a quick nod.

“Yes.” He started to say more, but something told him that would be a bad idea. That evening burned bright in Miles’ memory. The yelling, the screaming, the sand creature, the undead ninja-thing, he remembered all of it. It was not a happy memory. He shook his head to get himself back to the present.

“What about it?” he asked with a dry, small voice. Miles clutched at the amulet in his pocket as if his life depended on it.

“You showed great courage that night,” the Dark Avenger explained. “You alone stood up against me to defend your friends and their misguided plans using nothing more than a broom. To take a stand against the unknown, that kind of courage is rare. Somewhat misguided, but rare. I want to know: Are you willing to use that courage again to help me right a wrong?”

The question put Miles back on his heels. Again, the rumor that the Shadow was an evil spirit bent on hurting the living collided with the possibility that this figure was a vigilante who tried to help people. It made his head hurt. He knew he had to be careful; evil spirits were supposed to trick people into doing horrible things for good reasons, at least according to his Grandmother’s stories. Miles summoned his fractured courage.

“What does an evil spirit care about that?” he demanded.

“I will not say this again, Miles Benton. I am not an evil spirit!” The Shadow did not yell, or even raise his voice. But the sound of his words carried a steel that was impossible to miss.

Miles flinched. His already freckled, pale skin turned a shade lighter while he took a step back. Letting go of his backpack, but not his small amulet, he waved a free hand in front of him. “Ok! Right! Fine, fine! You’re not!” He took a shuddering breath, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. “What wrong are you talking about?”

“The Star Gate drug. That ‘study aid’ performance drug your friends have been creating in your basement lab,” the Shadow explained.

The young man shook his head. “The study aid? It’s not being made anymore. They stopped because it’s not needed.” It was the standard answer anyone in his fraternity gave about that topic. Truth be told, he had no idea if they had stopped making it. But, given that the drug had attracted something like the Shadow, Miles silently prayed what he had said was true.

“A study aid.” The Shadow repeated the phrase as if he had eaten something bitter. Then he laughed, but there was no humor in it. The sound echoed low in the air, sending tremors along Miles’ nerves.

“It’s a mind and body altering chemical. One that mutates a victim temporarily, granting them inhuman abilities for a short time,” the Shadow growled. “By some miracle, your lot have fashioned an antidote to it to remain addiction-free, provided that the antidote matches the Star Gate dosage. But what about the batches of antidote and Star Gate you’ve sold? What about the ones you sold it to? Would they take the same precautions and care with their customers?”

Miles fidgeted. He had been asking himself the same questions for days now. The young man’s conscience nagged at him with the answer, but he refused to face it. “Of course they would. We gave them instructions. It’d be stupid not to follow them.”

The Shadow interrupted him, leaning forward for emphasis. “You are not that naive.” His burning eyes bore a hole into Miles. “No! They would not take any such care! For criminals such as the Purple Hat Gang, Turbine Montrose, or the Penguin, it’s business to them. Supply and demand. Selling the drug together with the antidote doesn’t create demand. But selling the drug, at say double the dose, only to offer the antidote later at an inflated rate? An antidote for the addiction that may no longer work because the Star Gate dose is higher than what the cure can counter? That they would do.”

Miles felt a ball of ice sink into his gut. “But,” he sputtered before losing the rest of what he was trying to say. He shook his head, feeling the weight of bad decisions clamp down on his shoulders. “But I didn’t sell it. And it’s not being made anymore!” He intended the phrase to come out defiant, instead it came out a whimper.

The vigilante’s answer was to stare at Miles until the young man began fidgeting again.

“Do you think that matters to any of those criminals I listed?” the Shadow asked. “What do you think will happen once any of that lot come back to you for more ‘study aids,’ only to find out it’s not being made? They aren’t the type to take no for an answer and will kill to get what they want.”

Miles swallowed, feeling his heart sink. The Shadow had not spelled out every gruesome detail, but he had said enough. Miles’ imagination ran wild with what might happen, and who might get hurt - or worse - in being forced to create more Star Gate. He knew none of his friends had considered that angle before. The young man rubbed his eyes, groaning in imagined pain.

The Shadow glowered at Miles. “The wrong, the evil that needs undoing, is that drug. It needs to come off the street, and the evil people peddling it must face justice.”

“The police!” Miles exclaimed, seeing the proverbial light of hope at the end of this macabre tunnel. “I’ll tell the police!”

“Yes, you should,” the Shadow replied with a quiet whisper. “While the police are aware of some of this problem, they don’t know enough to build a proper investigation. Also, that doesn’t take the drug off the streets. It doesn’t stop those evil men from sending killers to eliminate you and your friends. By speaking to the police, you become a threat to the ones who peddle your study aid.”

“But … then … what?” Miles asked in a small voice. “Shadow, they’ll hurt my friends. I can’t let that happen! I can’t just sit around waiting for anyone to get hurt.” He shook his head. The world felt like it was spinning out of control. Miles wished he had never heard of Star Gate at all.

“Then don’t,” the Shadow replied. “Help me, and you help them.”

Miles flinched at the thought. He still was not sure the Shadow was an evil spirit or not, and he had read that no one ever comes out the winner when they bargain with a spirit. His mind raced. Miles saw no way free. His friends could get hurt, even die. Miles had heard rumors about the buyers. The Penguin, the Purple Hat Gang, Turbine Montrose, and others; they were all as bad as he could imagine. His hands shook from nerves. Miles rubbed them together to make them stop. He sighed.

“All right. What do I do?” he asked.

The Shadow inclined his head again. “If you hear of your friends making any more of this ‘Star Gate’, educate them on the danger. Perhaps, if they understand the consequences, they will stop creating it. After that? Listen, and watch for any sign of the previous clients who bought the drug. Be my eyes and ears here. No matter what, contact me if Star Gate is being made again or if there are strangers asking about it.”

Miles recovered his backpack and stared at it for a moment. “A spy?” He let out a breath. “I can do that. But, how will I tell you? Like text you or something?”  
The Shadow produced a plain white business card from his cloak. On it was a series of numbers written in a spidery handwriting.

“Memorize that number. Use it when you need to tell me something you’ve seen or heard,” he told the young man. The Shadow held the card out to Miles. “Either text or voice, I will hear you.”

The young man stared at the card as if it might bite him. He felt the weight of an impossibly huge task on his shoulders. Miles wrestled with it, but his concern over his friends won out in the end. He took the card, and the Shadow nodded a third time.

“Also, there may come a time when someone else who is helping me may contact you,” the vigilante explained. “When they do, help them. Or do your best to. You’ll know them when they lament that ‘crime these days is like a weed’. You will reply by saying, ‘I know, and it has a very bitter fruit’.”

“Ok.” Miles stared at the spidery handwriting, reading the number. Once he memorized it, the numbers melted off the card, becoming a gray-white vapor. He looked up in alarm.

The Shadow chuckled. “Good. You’ve memorized it. Keep the card, you might find it useful now and again.”

“Oh. Ok.” The young man inspected the blank cardstock, turning it over to look at both sides. When he glanced up, the Shadow was dissolving from view.

“Good hunting, Miles Benton, and stay vigilant. The weed of crime takes root in the most unexpected places,” the Shadow said, his voice echoing in the night air.  
Once the vigilante had vanished, Miles stared at the empty air in front of him. “And that weed can grow some bitter fruit.”

Slipping his backpack over a shoulder, Miles stuffed the card into a pocket before continuing down the dark sidewalk. The gloom spread all around him, with the trees seeming to move on their own out of the corner of his vision. Only this time, to his surprise, the shadows did not seem so frightening as before.

 


End file.
